Positions, Inc
by janewithay
Summary: Frat boy Edward Cullen is back home in Forks following a semester gone awry at Dartmouth College. Forced by his mother (who is well known for her strength as well as her infamous double ass kick) to find a job, he heads over to the new employment agency, Positions, Inc. But exactly what kind of "positions" are they talking about?
1. Chapter 1: An uncomfortable position

**Disclaimer: I forgot to tell you that I don't own Twilight. If I did I wouldn't be up at this ungodly hour getting my butt off to work, that's for sure. Anyway, I doubt I'm ever going to assume ownership of Twilight so this disclaimer will have to serve for the remainder of this story. (insert the words forgetful and lazy..._here_)**

Positions, Inc.

Chapter One: Out of college, unemployed...what a position to be in

They say that everybody has at least one story locked inside them that might be worthy to write about, at least according to Professor Blow Hard from Dartmouth College. (His real name is Professor Bloehardt but I mean…come on…with a name like that, coupled with a fine opinion of himself and the need to let everyone know about it…well, yeah… Blow Hard he is.) That pretentious old bastard flunked me out of English Rhetoric and that's why I'm home this semester instead trudging through the snow-covered campus of Hanover, NH. Well, that plus the trouble I got into with my fraternity brothers, but that's a whole other story.

This particular story began last Tuesday when my mother decided it was time for me to get my ass off the couch (which, according to her, I'd been "glued to since early December after coming home in disgrace.") And this particular little tale isn't nearly over, not by a long shot. No…this one is what a writer would call a "work in progress" and I have zero clues on how it's going to end.

Anyway, it all began like this…

"Edward, your father just called and told me to tell you to get your ass off the couch and look for a job; so get a move on-NOW."

I let out a grunt and reached for the remote control; Doctor Phil was about to come on to discuss the sex lives of sorority girls gone wild and I didn't want to miss some inadvertent tips; spring break was just around the corner.

"Ooof!"

Okay…I should begin by saying that Esme Cullen (my mother) is a little bitty thing who isn't more than 5 feet nothing and weighs about 100 pounds if she's had a good weekend and hasn't been to the bathroom yet. But don't let her size fool you…she's got the strength of ten men and an iron fist, which thankfully she doesn't exhibit too often. She says it comes from lugging three boys around and she's probably right. We were all big babies; Emmett alone weighed twelve pounds when he was born, which made it a lot easier for the rest of us to come out, or so Mom says. Jasper was born ten months after Em and he weighed in at Eleven point nine. I followed a year later, the runt of the litter, at ten pounds thirteen ounces. I'm still the thinnest of the three but I'm also the tallest at six feet four and a quarter. But of course that quarter could turn into a full inch if the stories about growing while you're sleeping are true. I'm widely regarded in my family as a slug. It's my nickname and one that I fully intend to live up to, providing my mother allows me to, of course.

Whatever…not that any of this random shit matters; I only wanted to illustrate how tiny Ole Esme is so you get the visual when I tell you that she picked up the couch with one hand and literally dumped me, head first, off the couch. I still have the bump on my forehead. Christ…she could have killed me and don't think I didn't let her know about that. But she only huffed and hit me my on the back of my head with a rolled up newspaper and told me that she hoped it "knocked some sense" into me. Then she threw the newspaper at me. I looked it over because I didn't want _the foot_, which is a part of my mother's repertoire when her ire is piqued from one of us "lunkheads," shoved up my ass. I looked at the classified ad that Esme had circled in red marker:

_Are you seeking an exciting new position that will offer both satisfaction and personal fulfillment to your life? Then we might have the purrfect position for you!_

**Position's Inc**

**1313 Turquoise Drive (In back of the diner)**

**Forks, Washington**

"What is this?" I asked. "Purrfect?" must be a typo. Professor Blowhard would have ripped whoever wrote this description a new asshole, that's for damn sure.

"It's a new employment agency for dumbass frat boys who flunked Rhetoric and had to take a semester off to get their shit together so they don't waste anymore of their parent's money. Now get your tail upstairs, take a shower, shave that ridiculous looking scruff off your chin and brush your teeth. It's almost nine o' clock and I want you to be there as soon as it opens. And make sure you put on something decent, please. I know flannel is part of your skin now but maybe you could remove it long enough to don a decent Oxford and a pair of khakis?" She nudged my behind with her slippered foot. Yeah, I knew this move…classic Esme…she was poised for the double ass kick. I jumped up off the floor and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time. My mother has been known to ass swat from behind as she follows her lunkheads up the stairs so I didn't want to take any chances.

"And don't take thirty minutes playing with yourself in there either…I just cleaned that shower and water isn't free. Now get a move on!" she barked. I sighed; my mother knows my brothers and I inside out…it's really quite disturbing. Not that I planned on "playing" anyway. I already took care of that earlier.

"And make sure you get those tissues from under your bed and return that bottle of lotion to my bathroom; I paid fifteen dollars for that, Edward. If you need lubrication then go down to Dollar Tree and get your own…after you get a job!"

I let out another sigh, grabbed a towel and turned the water on. This was going to be one long-ass semester and my mother was going to make sure that it was the last one I ever took off until I graduated.

Friggin _Positions, Inc_…the only position I wanted to be in involved my back reclining on the sofa with the good doctor interviewing the sorority sisters.

"I'm timing you Edward!"

I hopped in just as I heard the toilet flush…Jesus Fuck! The pulse in my back burned to the beat of Esme's cackle. She must have watched Some Kind of Wonderful recently; she gets her best ideas on how to motivate us boys from those cheesy coming of age movies. I'm going to toss out every last one of those DVD's if it's the last thing I do.

"Dad just ordered Netflix for me, Edward…" I heard her call out as I proceeded to drown out her voice and maybe, if I'm lucky, myself, in the stream of now tepid water. My mother needs to be studied by the North Pacific Paranormal Society; her psychic abilities are a well know fact in the Cullen household. Ask Jasper about the time she caught him with Alice at the Meadow Crest Motor Lodge, he'll tell you.

Thirty minutes and four lectures later, I pulled the Volvo into 1313 Turquoise Drive (behind the diner.) I parked next to a cherry red Mini Cooper, hopped out, and headed into the storefront. I recognized that it used to be the old Laundromat. The outside of the building looked the same but the window was all dressed in red and black lacy stuff with a big heart in the center that said, Positions, Inc. I shrugged my shoulders because even though it's only January lots of places are already decked out for Valentine's Day.

I grabbed my résumé, walked into the store, and promptly tripped over a big scarlet and white box. The contents spilled out and I knelt to scoop them up. A rainbow of bubble packed colors splayed before me. A low buzzing noise filled the air and looked around to find the source.

_What is this shit?_ I asked myself.

Cock rings?

Nipple Clamps?

Anal plugs?

Rascally Rabbit vibrator? Well, that explained the buzzing noise…

_What the actual fuck?_

I heard a long, dark, throaty chuckle and looked up to see a pair of red patent leather boots with fuck me six ways till Sunday heels attached to a curvy brunette who was holding what had to be the world's largest dildo in her hands. I let out a big gulp and blinked; maybe I'd hit my head harder than I thought. If I'm dead then I hope my mother suffers the guilt for the rest of her natural life, so help me God.

"Welcome to Positions, Inc"

And that's when I knew three things.

One: my mother's psychic abilities didn't see this coming. (Or did she? Esme always was a bit of a prankster.)

Two: Doctor Phil needs to get his ass off the air and head to Forks before he's scooped by Oprah who would come out of retirement for this story. _Sex shops in the Northwest and recently removed frat boys who don't have a clue…_

Three: Professor Blow Hard was right; everyone does have at least one story worth telling, and this was going to be mine.

**AN:** So I've been puttering around with this idea since an Adam and Eve opened up in our small town. Not that I've been in there. Much. Okay…I've been in a few times; doesn't make me a sex pig or anything. Okay, yes…I have taken a few of my friends in there and all of my prudish co-workers (except for Jennifer who should own her own shop and probably will someday as she plans on becoming a sexologist when she graduates. She goes there all on her own.) Anyway, last summer I saw a young college aged boy pimping the store by waving a big flag in the drivers faces as they drove on by. And it got me to thinking…and you know how that is. Hopefully it will be a good story…maybe not as good as the one Edward will take with him back to Dartmouth of course, but passable.

Thanks for reading and according to Dr. Blow Hard, "Always ask your readers for a review so you know if your work has merit or if it is simply rubbish."

Kindly leave me a review…even if it is rubbish!

Jayne XO

Oh…and for those who are following **A Crack in the Door** please note that I will post the next chapter as soon as my beta is able to look it over. Obviously Positions, Inc…has no beta, although my own 22-year-old slug gave it a look over and added a sentence. Can you guess which one it is?


	2. Chapter 2: First Position

_A big thanks to sunflowerFran3759 who beta'd this chapter; xo! (Of course I fiddle-faddled with it just a tad, so any mistakes here are my own!_

Chapter Two

First Position

"Welcome to Positions, Inc"

All I remember before hitting the floor were those four words that came from the pouty mouth of the curvy brunette who sported the red patent leather fuck- me- right- the- hell- now -and -be- lively- about- it- boots…who I might add was also holding that huge dildo…..

I was still on my knees at this point, picking up the chattering, clit clamps or whatever the fuck they were supposed to be. At the sound of her sultry voice, my brain received a signal which then issued an all-points bulletin down south; and I felt my compass needle point north. The killer boots then inched closer to me, and I gulped as she bent over to assist. My eyes began to make the same ascent as the rest of me, and I nearly keeled over at the sight. If this is Heaven and I'm not already dead, then take me now Lord, I am ready to go, I prayed silently.

"Oh, here... let me help you…"

Ungh, that velvety voice was going to be the death of me! A slender, white hand with crimson tips reached over to pluck the vibrating bubble pack out of my grasp. I felt my pulse quicken and my mouth went completely dry. I couldn't even muster a squeak out of it if I tried.

Aaand, that's when it happened.

Okay, I know you're dying to know what happened and I swear on my Eagle Scout badge (that I stole from my brother because I was too lazy to make it past wolf cub) that I'm going to tell you. But first you need to know something about me.

I have the worst luck with women; ever. It's always been my problem.

It all started when I was thirteen and my parents decided to throw me my first boy and girl birthday party. My birthday falls on June 20th, which sucks royally. School is over for the summer, and all the good little students in Forks get the hell out and go to the beach, or visit a grandparent, or go anywhere that isn't here; to get them the hell out of this one bear town. I guess I bitched about it enough that Ole Esme finally took pity on me and decided to allow me to have a basement party a week early, _"Provided you and your little friends don't rip, snort and tear down the place, Edward. And don't think I won't be down to check on you kids from time to time, because I will. Come morning I would still like to be called both a parent and a homeowner. And stay out of my laundry room; the last time I let you boys throw a party down there your little friend Jacob was jumping up and down on my dryer and I had to have it replaced. If he was mine he would have had his fanny warmed with my left foot."_ I smile at the memory; good ole Jake; he still one of my best buddies and I've missed his ass ever since he took off for parts unknown with his brother's girlfriend, Leah.

But that's a whole other story.

Anyway, I know I digress, but that's on account of the fact that I have Attention Deficit Disorder or some shit like that. It comes and goes but I never had to take drugs for it or anything because I had the benefit of Esme's foot, re-directing my attention when it started to drift.

Where was I?

Oh yes, my thirteenth birthday party.

Well, to begin with it was Friday the thirteenth. Now, that right there should have been a sign that there was gonna be a problem. Anyway, my brothers had the cellar all decked out in this really awesome Goosebumps theme; remember Goosebumps? Man, I was so into those books, even if I did struggle a little with the words. Did I mention that I have Dyslexia? Well I do…just a tad. I mean it's not so bad that I can't read or go to college. I do attend Dartmouth and all. Of course that's because I have a genius IQ and I am a fourth generation legacy.

But that's another story.

Anyway, the party was going great. The guys were having a blast trying to pin their tails on a girl, and no one was jumping on Esme's dryer. After my mother stopped pimping her chicken fingers and nacho Supremes, Emmett came downstairs and suggested that we all play a little game. Naturally we expected he would bring out Monopoly or, if we were lucky, his Playstation. But he didn't. Instead he set a bottle of my Dad's Chivas in the middle of the floor and we played spin the bottle. I was as nervous as a bedbug in June because I never kissed any girl other than Ole Esme before in my life. Since it was my birthday, I went first. The bottle landed on Jessica See-My-Tits-Bounce Stanley. I was totally down with that, because Jessica had been sporting these size triple D cups since the fourth grade, and all the guys fantasized about those babies. I leaned over to kiss her; she smelled like bubble gum and Doritos. I pressed my lips against her and felt her kiss them back. It was _really good_…I was surprised…even her nacho-gum flavored breath tasted good. So good in fact that I got a little carried away and decided to put my tongue in there to see what would happened.

What happened was that Jessica's gum soon found its way into my mouth and then down my throat. Of course, that's when I choked on it; like _really_ choked on it. My father (Ole Carlisle See-my-License-Plate-I'm-a-doctor) had to come flying downstairs with his medical bag and he had to do the Heimlich maneuver and God knows what all. It was the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me. And to top it all off, my brothers never let me forget about it and neither does Ole Esme, who still doesn't allow gum in the house. "If your breath needs freshening, Edward, go brush your teeth." Frickin teeth and Esme…the woman should have been a dentist; she's obsessed with keeping them clean.

Needless to say I didn't kiss another girl for two years following that event. Not that they wanted to kiss me anyway, what with me throwing up after the Heimlich maneuver and all.

But, yeah…that's another story.

Anyway, I'm telling you all this to illustrate my bad luck with women. And honestly, it didn't get any better after that either. Now that's not to say that it's been _all_ bad and there haven't been any girls in my life, because that would be a bold-faced lie; I mean, I'm not a bad looking guy and chicks seem to dig me. The problem is; all the girls I've been with have the same thing in common; they're virgins. And worse, they intend to stay that way.

"_No Edward, just, no. You can put the tip in if you want, but that's as far as it goes_." That was Angela. Her father was a minster.

"_No, Edward…we can do everything but. And that includes the butt_." That was Lauren. Her mother was a catholic.

"_No Edward, I really want to, but I don't want to get pregnant._" That was Shelly. Her sister got knocked up when she was seventeen.

Then I went off to Dartmouth two years ago. After a few weeks to get my bearings, I finally met the girl of my dreams.

Tanya…

"_Oh Edward, yes, yes, yes! No, no, no-WAIT! I don't think I want to do it after all. I think I might be a lesbian."_ She turned out to be right and has been dating Irina ever since.

As I said…worse luck with women, ever.

So this is why it shouldn't have been a surprise when the curvy, brunette in the long, red, patent leather don't- bother- to- turn- down- the- covers- just-fuck- me- against- the- wall- boots, ankle twisted and everything suddenly took a turn for the worse.

"Ooof!" she yelped as she tripped over the same damn box that I did , and fell hard, right on top of me.

Yeaaah…that should have been something out of a young, horny guy's dreams I know; believe me I know. And it _was_…until her stiletto heel made contact with the inside of my thigh and missed piercing my balls by a fraction of an inch.

I let out a scream like a forty year old woman at a Twilight Marathon. Mother of all fuck…did that hurt! My hands started flailing about as I tried in vain to right both myself and her, but it was too late: she face planted right into my armpit. I grabbed the back of her neck, like the hapless ass that I am, and my fraternity ring got caught in her hair (which wasn't the first time that ever happened; shocker there.) When I tried to remove it, her hair came off along with it. I let out an even higher pitched scream and then something, like maybe a huge-ass spider, fell in my mouth. I spat it out before I choked on it; horrific visions of Jessica's gum swirling in my head. I gave it a tentative glance and heaved a sigh of relief…whew…NOT a spider, thank God. Nope, it was a set of false eyelashes. Well part of a set; the other part was hanging off her left eye like a bat ready to take flight. I let out a shudder…this chick was scary.

I looked down frantically at the long, brunette tresses in my hand and prayed to God I wasn't going to have to rush her ass down to Forks Memorial so Ole Carlisle could reattach her damn scalp and make medical science. It looked fairly benign (as in I didn't see any flesh mixed in with it) so I gave it a good shake to free it from my ring. It worked, and the hair went flying half way across the room like a banshee, and landed on an empty coatrack. I stifled a scream when I realized that it was some kind of a wig, or a hair piece.

Ole Esme has a fake thing like that too; she likes to put it in hair to change it up a bit from time to time. Emmett likes to fool around with it and he sometimes puts it under his armpit and walks around the house with it asking everybody if they think he needs to shave. Yeah, Ole Esme isn't at all amused by Emmett's antics. "_I paid thirty-five dollars for that hair piece at Sally's, Emmett. So unless you want to replace it with your allowance and have me practice my new triple-threat kick, then I strongly you suggest you remove it from your sweaty armpit right now, and return it to my dresser. And go brush your teeth; your breath could use some freshening."_

I looked up when I felt a rumble emitting from 'red boots'. I fully expected it to be the sound of laughter, since it was pretty fucking hilarious and all. But to my utter horror it was quite the opposite; this girl wasn't laughing. No…she was full on bawling, and I watched in amazement as the false lash, bat thing, finally took flight and then plummeted to the floor.

"Oh my god…I'm sooo sorry! I knew this was a bad idea! I only tried on this stupid stuff because well, the UPS man delivered it all today and I started opening up the boxes and I figured if I was ever gonna be able to know what the hell I'm supposed to be selling then I'd better have a little experience with sampling the goods. But I don't know what I'm doing…and now look! My hair went flying, you've been assaulted by these, fuck- me- now- or- I'm- going- to- blow- boots, and then my fake eyelashes ended up in your mouth and on the floor! I knew I never should have trusted Renee with my inheritance after my father died, but I did because I'm one Dumb Dora when it comes to my mother. She kept telling me, _Oh Bella…there's never been a sex shop or anything even remotely close to even being sexy in Old Forks. And with the economy gone bust, there isn't anything better for folks to do than to just say, well, fuck it, I'm poor, so I might as well fuck._

"I tried to tell her that I didn't think nipple clamps and clit stimulators were going to be marketable in this shit- hole town, but does this woman ever listen to me? No. And to top it all off she left me high and dry last week when she ran off with some ball player named Phil.

But that's another story.

And now look…here I am on the floor with Ole green eyes, whose balls, I mean testicles, I'm sorry I don't mean to be vulgar, were almost severed with a heel that could serve as an ice pick, for crying out loud. And to make matters worse I can't even get up because this enormous dildo just punctured my water bra and it'll look like I'm lactating or something. And I want it to go on record that I am decidedly NOT lactating, thank you very much, because I'm not pregnant, not even close.

What I am is a fake and a fraud and one Stupid Sally who doesn't know Jack Shit or any of his brothers. I'm the daughter of a flake-who drifts from one town to the next, on a damn whim, so I've never had a real boyfriend, let alone sex!"

_Never had sex? _

What the actual fuck?

I let out a sigh at her verbal diarrhea…

I've been duped by a virgin in a pair of red patent leather don't- bother- to- take- me- out- to- dinner- since- I'll- just- be- dining- on- your- cock- boots.

As I said…

Worst luck with women.

Ever.

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who gave this a whirl or a nod. I hope you continue to enjoy this silly little story as much as I am writing it. For those who thought it was going to be a Sub-Dom thing…well…no, sorry to disappoint. But there will be plenty of fun times ahead for these two crazy kids, so why not stick around and see if Bella can help Edward find a good position after all?**

**Jayne xo!**


	3. Chapter 3 Supper Time and Tangled Tales

Disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own it. Yep, it still owns me.

Thanks go to sunflowerfran3759 for being the fastest beta known to mankind. Thank you Fran!

Positions, Inc

Chapter Three: Supper Time and Tangled Tales

Part One

"Edward Anthony Cullen! Get your hand out of those mashed potatoes right this minute. Honestly Edward, what is wrong with you tonight? I swear your head has been in the clouds ever since you dropped your resume off at the new employment agency this afternoon. How did you make out anyway?"

"I got a job," I said tiredly. I removed my hand from the bowl of mashed potatoes and placed it on my lap. After the day I had with Puss in Boots, I was exhausted.

Upon hearing the news that I have been offered a job, Carlisle rolled out of his chair and dropped to the floor like a fly that had just been swatted.

"Praise Jesus!" He proclaimed to the ceiling. "Take me now Lord, I am ready to go. My prayers have been answered!"

I looked at him lying prostrate on the floor and offered to get him the defibrillator from his office, but he declined with a small smile.

"No thank you, Son. I've made my peace and can accept my fate now that you're gainfully employed. What kind of job did you accept? I hope it's one that will allow you to move out as soon as possible: you're mother and I want to turn your bedroom into a tantric, sexual space," he joked.

Tantric Sex?

Christ, I hoped he was joking…I can just picture him and Ole Esme coming down to the shop to decorate my bedroom in 50 shades of Gray. (Yes, I know what that stupid book is…my mother and her girlfriends are all reading it after bible study. I'm serious. After they put the _Good Book_ away, they take out the _other_ good book. It's quite disturbing and possibly sacrilegious.)

Anyway, I got so worked up thinking about my mother and father pulling into 1313 Turquoise Drive to go on a little, sex-toy, shopping spreethat I proceeded to choke on Esme's Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic. Ole Esme's been watching The Barefoot Contessa again; she always gets all fancified whenever Ina entertains one of her charming gay friends on the veranda overlooking the Long Island Sound.

Last week she made Deconstructed Lobster Salad. Carlisle also dropped to the floor that night when she told him how much the lobster cost per pound. I offered to apply the paddles but he declined saying that we couldn't afford the electricity to power them up since my mother used up her monthly budget on the lobster meat. Yes my father is somewhat of a drama queen, but he isn't so much a skinflint, as he is the product of much older parents who were raised during the depression. Nana Cullen is 89 years old next month and she still eats weird, little, depression meals like Milk Lunch Crackers with sugar and milk for supper, so his frugality comes from that. But the man is a doctor for crying out loud and he makes bank; let me tell you. However, you wouldn't know it by his constant fretting over bill**s** and hand wringing when college tuitions are due. Of course he does have three kids in college at the same time, (or did have until recently.)

Anyway, at the sound of my strangled throat, Carlisle resurrected and immediately went into doctor mode. He pounded me hard on my back with a practiced hand. I hacked up the chunk of chicken and one of the forty cloves of garlic into my napkin.

Esme didn't even bat an eyelash at this encounter. Instead she sat back in her seat and called me "vulgar." Apparently my hacking and spewing turned her stomach and she couldn't eat another bite until I removed the offending object from the table and washed my hands.

"Oh, and if you're finished eating, Edward, then please brush your teeth; there's nothing worse than allowing chicken to fester in ones teeth; besides, your breath could use some freshening."

I excused myself from the table and went upstairs to my bathroom and brushed my teeth. I looked at my face in the mirror and sighed. I looked like Friday's turd dressed up for Saturday's market. Christ, what a day this has been, I thought. I really need to start keeping a journal so I can impress Professor Blowhard with my best-selling novel when I get back to Dartmouth. I have a sneaky suspicion that I'll soon be lauded as this generation's Salinger; I rather see myself as a Holden Caulfield type. This reminded me that I'd better return Esme's fifteen dollar lotion to her bathroom before she retired for the night. I wiped my mouth and headed back downstairs.

"I need a cigarette," I overheard my mother state to my dad. "Don't judge." I listened to the kitchen door openingto the Florida room. This is my mother's smoking parlor. It should be noted that my mother doesn't really smoke much. She used to before we were born, but she quit when she got pregnant with Emmett. However, when Em passed his driving test, the first place he drove was to Walgreen's to pick up Ole Esme a pack of Virginia Slim Lights. She claims she needs them for medicinal purposes. I guess my choking on her chicken got her nerves fired up. I can only imagine how many cigs she'll rail if she finds out the details of my new job.

I went back into the kitchen and my father snuck me half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I assumed he wasn't a fan of Ina's 40 Cloves of Garlic, but with Carlisle it's hard to know if it's hunger or a sugar craving. That man can sneak a snack faster than you can say Jack Rabbit. Of course he has to be stealthy because my mother only allows herself one ciggie after dinner, which she puffs on dramatically, like she's Bette Davis or something, and he doesn't want to get caught. His efforts to coerce me into joining a life of crime with him fail though, because I am allergic to peanuts, and I reminded him of that with a huff. He only sighed and muttered something about how he's got three sons and they're all allergic to something and how in the hell is he supposed to remember whose throat slams shut over strawberries and who drops down dead when they eat shell fish. I pointed out to him that he's a damn doctor and he's obligated to remember shit like that, but he only gave me a sheepish grin and proceeded to stuff the entire sandwich in his mouth. He downed it with a glass of milk, and asked me if my EpiPen was still fresh. It is; he wrote me a script when I came back home last month, which luckily I haven't had to use- yet.

"Is she lighting another?" He asked hopefully. I laughed; he's more concerned about being caught snacking than the condition of her lungs. Some doctor he is.

My mother doesn't approve of snacks or desserts except on special occasions. But Doc has a sweet tooth that needs to be tended to on the reg, hence the occasional PB and J and the box of assorted goodies he keeps on the DL from my mother. He moves the box around a lot because Esme is like a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out his Little Debbie contraband. Last week she found it under my bed when she decided to tackle the dust bunnies that are her arch enemies. I was the unlucky recipient of her triple, ass kick, which she claimed still needed a bit of practic**e,** as she caught her toe on the bedframe when I attempted to leap over the mattress in a futile effort of self preservation. It didn't work out well for either of us; she sprained her pinky toe and I knocked my head on the wall and was practically concussed. I didn't out my Dad though; the man has the right to an oatmeal pie every so often. Besides, I let him know that he owes me one, and he knows that he'll be paying me back for taking the ass kick and concussion one fine day.

"So, what type of work will you be doing? He asked conversationally. "Is it local?"

"Um, yeah…you remember the old Laundromat in back of the diner?" Dad shook his head in agreement and reached for the coffee canister. I watched as his hands clawed through the coffee grounds and pulled out a small plastic bag. He looked furtively over his shoulder to see if the Drill Sergeant was watching us, and decided it was safe. He poured a handful of jelly beans into his palm and popped them in his mouth all at the same time.

The door opened with a bang.

"Carlisle! What are you sneaking now? Don't think I didn't see you go to the pantry and make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Mister. I was watching you like a hawk the whole time. What do you have in your mouth this time? I watched in glee as Carlisle got ripped a new one. A puddle of rainbow colored goo dribbled slightly from the corner of his mouth as he tried in vain to mumble, "Nothing."

Busted.

I decided that now was probably as good a time as any to start weaving my tangled web. "So, I'm going to start my new job tomorrow," I blurt out.

My mother looked up at me with raised brows: "Tomorrow? Isn't that a little soon? I can't believe they were able to place you so quickly."

"Um, yeah…I know it is kind of quick. But, umm, I'm actually going to be working at the, er, agency." Esme's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"At Positions, Inc! Oh, that's wonderful!" She came over to me and made me bend down so she could kiss the top of my head. The woman may be the champion of ass kicks, but she is also extremely affectionate with her boys. I gave her a bear hug and made her squeal; she loves that kind of shit.

"Positions, Inc, huh? Sounds like the name of a porn shop." Carlisle said in amusement. The man is far more astute than I realized.

"Oh Carlisle…stop! As if anyone would open up a sex shop in Forks. The economy is certainly unable to support that type of industry in a small town like this. That's why I have to go to Port Angeles when I want to buy that thing for your…"

"La-la-la-la-la! Hello, this is your son standing here who is trying to tell you about his new position, not to hear you discuss what kind of _position_ you want to put Dad's, um_, whatever_ in. Do you mind?"

"Sorry Son, your mother always gets a little carried away whenever she hears the word 'sex' these days. I blame it on that damn book she's reading and her fluctuating hormones." He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Her estrogen is making its last hurrah and she's determined to hold on to every last bit of it," he said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Oh, Carlisle shut up. The last thing Edward wants to hear about is his mother's hot flashes and night sweats." Esme laughed.

She's got that right.

"So, exactly what is it you'll be doing there?" She asks expectantly.

"Well, the uh, _agency,_ just opened and they need some support staff to answer the phones and do administrative stuff, like help people work on their resumes. You know, that sort of thing…" I drifted off. The bullshit spewed from my mouth quite naturally. What can I say? It's always been my gift.

"So who is the owner of the agency? Is it someone local?"My mother asked.

I cleared my throat uneasily; how much of the truth do I want to admit? I decided to go for broke and put my chips on the table. "Uh, well, no, she's not exactly a born here-more like a come-back-here. Her name is Isabella Swan."

Swan? Not Charlie Swan's daughter? Oh, the poor girl! Carlisle, do you remember when his canoe turned over last year? They say he got all caught up in his fishing tackle. It was so sad. We went to his funeral. Of course I knew his ex-wife at one time. Renee and I were friends for about six months or so and then she moved away. Edward, you remember little Bella from play group?"

Ah, shit. I should have made up a name. It figures; my mother knows just about everyone living or dead in this piss ant town.

Wait a minute…_what?_

'_Little Bella from play group'_

What the actual fuck?

**A/N:** Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews and PM's for this little story! I'm sorry it has taken me so long to post this chapter. But, rather than getting into my pity little excuses like varicose vein ablation surgeries and such, I am sure you would just rather have another update, right? So, as a thank you for your kind words and patience I am giving you another chapter tomorrow! (Of course that is also because this chapter was 4,000 words long and my beta thought it might be a good idea if I broke it up and I had to agree. Speaking of beta's…a big shout out goes to sunflowerfran3759 for her support, as well as her unbelievably fast turnaround on fixing my mistakes. Thank you so much, Fran!

Part Two of Supper Time and Tangled Tales will post tomorrow. Good night USA and Good Morning to the rest of the world who is just waking up! Jayne xo


	4. Chapter 4: Part Two of chapter three

**Disclaimer:** If I didn't own it last night then chances are I don't own it now. What I do own is a burning desire to head down to Adam and Eve and try on a pair of red patent leather fuck-me-now-while-I-still-have-a-pulse-and-a-little-estrogen-left-boots. (Purely for research purposes, of course.)

**Thank you sunflowerfran3759 for being an awesome beta!**

Positions, Inc

Chapter Four: Supper Time and Tangled Tales

Part Two

'_Little Bella from play group'_

What the actual fuck?

"Oh you remember her, silly…she had those long pig-tails and her teeth were a little bucky," at this Esme set her mouth like a beaver. I tried to stifle a laugh; my mother has the best way of making herself look exactly like a cartoon character. Woman should have been an actress.

"Oh come on Edward, I know you remember her…she pushed that crayon up your nose one time and your poor father had to leave work early so he could remove it."

Bingo!

The olfactory memory of that particular, childhood trauma resurfaced with a vengeance…I can still smell the wax.

Bleh.

Wait…that was _Bootsie?_ Christ, first she tried to snuff me out with a red crayon as a kid and since that didn't work out she's back in town trying to kill me with her red, fuck-me-now-or-I'll-stab-you-in-the-balls-I-mean-testicales-sorry-I-don't-mean-to-be-vulgar, boots? I knew that chick was scary the minute I laid eyes on her and now I know why. She's the bad-seed child all grown up!

"Well of course that was only because you kissed her in the tree house. Oh, god-that was hysterical! The way that child carried on. Renee and I laughed so hard we didn't even notice you weren't breathing until your lips started turning blue," Esme cackled.

A vague memory of trying to kiss a little girl with big brown eyes that reminded me of Bambi struck me dumb. Oh my god…I'd completely forgotten all about that! I'm also shocked that my brothers didn't taunt and tease me about that kiss too; it must have happened the summer they were at Boy Scout camp. So Bella was my first kiss and not Jessica? I'm not sure which was worse; suffocation by Crayola or being choked to near death from Bazooka Joe. Either way, at least they were both memorable as far as first kisses go.

"Anyway, they moved away a few weeks later and I lost touch with Renee after that."

"It's just as well Esme. I don't think that woman was a good influence on you or the rest of the mothers in that play group. Wasn't she the one who suggested it was time to get silly for cocktails after you put the kids down for a nap? I came home to find ten woman passed out in my den with my medical books all opened to Sexual Health, with really graphic notes and illustrations scribbled in the margins. And there were kids running amuck all over the place," my father informed me with a grin.

Little Bella from play group and her wild mother…something about this news made me want to turn to my folks and say in a sinister voice: _They're baaaack._ But I kept my trap shut and decided if I was going to pull off my new position at Positions Inc without the Rents knowing what I was up to, that I'd better keep it that way.

*PINC*

Later that night after I dragged my tired ass into bed, I found myself reliving the conversation I had with Bella after our sprawl on the floor.

"_And to make matters worse I can't even get up because my water bra just burst and it'll look like I'm lactating or something."_

I mean, how exactly does one respond to this kind of comment? It's not like I'm some sensitive little woman whose gonna cluck and tsk over this news and offer to get my sweater out of my car so she won't be embarrassed and all. I'm a guy…I wanted to see what the hell she was talking about…freaking water bra…what the hell is that? It's not like I have sisters you know, and I certainly can't imagine my mother sporting anything other than the industrial, white, boob covers with the six hooks and closures that she favors. I honestly don't know how my old man manages those things.

Ugh…I erased that image from my memory banks, pronto.

Oh, and before you judge, the only reason I know what kind of bras Ole Esme favors is because she makes me do all the laundry since my unexpected return from Dartmouth.

_Make sure you put my lingerie on the delicate cycle Edward, and remember to sort them first. You washed my goo__**d,**__ Bali Bra with your jeans last week and now its tattletale gray._

I shuddered under my covers, and not in a good way, if you get my drift. I banished all thoughts of Esme's underwear from my mind and returned to thoughts about water bras and chocolate eyed girls who do their own laundry.

After Bella convinced me to close my eyes so she could get up and change into something less leaky, we decided to head over to the diner for a cup of coffee. (Yes, _of course_ I peaked…what the hell did you expect? I told you I'm a guy and God didn't bless me with these extra long eyelashes and the genius IQ for nothing. I have the art of parting the curtains down to a science, and she never noticed a thing.) Unfortunately for me she was lightening quick and raced to the backroom and returned wearing a Phoenix University hoodie and a pair of chucks. But I did notice that her jeans were filled out nicely in the back and she caught me noticing that too; she pulled the hoodie over her backside with a huff. Drat…foiled again! I wondered if her butt was as round as it looked; after all, everything else about her was a fake. I mean, she could be wearing one of those Frederick of Hollywood fake asses for all I know. I decided I would find away to get to the bottom of that potential mystery as soon as fate offered me the chance.

Once we entered the diner and sat down at a booth in the back, I had the opportunity to finally check her out more fully. With her hairpiece gone**,** I noticed that her hair was still quite long, but it was fine and silky. Really silky; my fingers itched to run my hands through it. Obviously that would be completely inappropriate, right? I mean I'm not the best at judging those sorts of things on account of the fact that I probably have a touch of Asperger's Syndrome and sometimes miss social cues. So instead of touching her hair, I raked my fingers through my own; which I do a lot anyway on account of the fact that in addition to all my other conditions I also might be slightly OCD. It's true; I do have all these maladies and conditions even though none of them have been officially documented- unless you consider Doctor Google a professional psychologist. My mother claims that I am somewhat of a hypochondriac and she is probably right, because with all the other problems I have, it wouldn't surprise me if hypochondria weren't in the mix.

But that's another story.

I stared at her mouth the whole time she was talking; her lips were full and pink even after she had removed all traces of the red lip gloss she had been wearing when I first went into the shop. I could barely concentrate on what she was blathering about, if I am to be honest. And she really did blather; this chick has mad, oral communication skills, let me tell you. Her mouth doesn't stop moving for one second.

"_And I suck at math and don't have a clue on how I'm going to figure out all the accounting and bookkeeping shit, either. Even though my mother is a scatterbrain, she's really good at math and she was the one who was supposed to take care of that…"_

I looked up at her and watched in fascination as her sepia, colored eyes flooded with tears, and before I could stop myself I found my finger reach out to swipe the tear that ran down her cheek.

"Ow!" We both cried out; as a shock of electricity arced between her cheek and my finger. I mumbled that I was sorry and reached over to the ancien**t,** napkin container that has been sitting on this booth since 1959**,** and grabbed a few napkins and handed them to her. She wiped her tears and blew her nose rather loudly, and mumbled, "S'ok…"

I sat back in my seat and pursed my lips in consideration.

"Listen," I said, "maybe I can help you out with that kind of stuff. I'm really good with crunching numbers and I'm majoring in finance at Dartmouth."

"Dartmouth? Isn't that in Vermont?" I told her that it was technically in New Hampshire but on the Vermont border. Of course that conversation segued into the reason I'm not skiing my way to class instead of jumping puddles in Forks. I found myself surprised that I wanted this strange girl with the leaky bras and fuck me boots to know why, which was really weird because I didn't want anyone in this shit-hole town to know about my fraternity brother's prank that went horribly awry. But for some odd reason I felt compelled to tell Bella the truth; I wanted her to know me.

Between the refills of what is possibly the shittiest coffee ever made from one hundred percent**, **pure, Arabica beans, and what was possibly the weirdest conversation I've ever had, I was offered a job at Positions, Inc.

I also discovered three more things:

One: Isabella Swan might be a crazy, Chatty Cathy with diarrhea of the mouth, but she's also a really good listener. I'm usually a fidgety Frank who shreds napkins and fiddles with the shakers when I'm at the table, but something about her eyes and her velvety voice soothed me. It's like, the more wired she got, the calmer I became. And the funny thing is, I seemed to have the same effect on her.

Two: When she got hot and took off her hoodie, I found out that the boobs she was hiding underneath that water bra didn't actually need H20 to keep them buoyant; they bobbed quite nicely under her blue tank top all on their own.

Three: Bella Swan is one of the most interesting girls I have ever met, with or without those red fuck-me-now-before-I-grow-my-own-dick- and-just-do-it-myself-boots.

Even if she did try to kill me

Twice.

And with those thoughts swimming in my head, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. I dreamed about a little girl with buck teeth chasing me through the forest with a red crayon in her hand. I kept running and running until I couldn't run anymore! I frantically climbed up a tree as fast as I could, but she came up after me, two limbs at a time. Only now she wasn't a beaver-toothed, little girl.

No indeed.

In her place was a bat-shit, crazy, brown-eyed woman, wearing a pair of red, patent leather,yes-I-am-going-to-fuck-you-until-the-bough-breaks-boots.

And oddly enough, it wasn't a nightmare.

It was quite possibly the best dream I ever had.

**A/N:** And there you have it! So, just how long do you think it will be before Carlisle and Ole Esme catch on that their son is working at a sex shop? Gasp! As at least one reviewer pointed out, it is a small town. Hmm…

Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews and support. Nothing tickles me more than to know someone out there in the world is reading this story! If you haven't already done so, then perhaps you can share your opinion? I have quite a thick skin so feel free to tell me if it's rubbish.

Okay, that's a total lie. I'm a marshmallow who cries into her Edward Cullen pillow every time a fart goes cross wise. But he is quite comforting, so bring it on!

See you next week (providing my fickle bitch of a muse doesn't decide to go on an extended cruise.) Jayne xo


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